


Sweet Child of Mine

by raiining



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Get Together, Kid!Fic, M/M, Pre-Avengers (2012), baby!fic actually, not mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1555067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil clutches his mug of coffee tighter to his chest.  “I think I’m going to adopt Clint Barton’s illegitimate love child.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Child of Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Moving In or Moving On](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344982) by [desert_neon (sproutgirl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sproutgirl/pseuds/desert_neon). 



> A big chunk of this was inspired by desert_neon’s fabulous fic “Moving In or Moving On” which, if you haven’t read it, _why??!_ Go, go, read it now!!
> 
> The other chunk is inspired by recent experience. If you want to see a lot of Jeremy Renner, Clark Gregg, and occasionally texts/pictures about my four month old daughter (and my two-and-a-half year old son), follow me on tumblr at http://raiining.tumblr.com/
> 
>  
> 
> Beta'd by the fabulous desert_neon, who is wonderful in all things :)

A black sedan has been spotted circling his building.

Phil sees the report from Agent Services the moment he steps into his office. He glances at the signature blue envelope, sighs, downs his cup of extra-large coffee to go, and hangs his jacket on the hook behind his door. Thus fortified, he cracks the envelope’s seal and skims the contents. 

The vehicle was unmarked, the plates unregistered. Phil thinks back. He’d left his apartment at four this morning and hadn’t gotten home until after ten last night. He’s never seen a sedan. Then again, he’s been so exhausted he might have missed a bus. The previous two nights he’d slept at Headquarters, on the couch in his office, because Clint and Natasha had missed a check-in. He’d only stumbled home last night because Maria had forced him to, after pointing out that their agents were fine and he’d be useless to the team if he couldn’t think on his feet.

He never could think straight when Clint was in danger, which was the reason he’d resigned as the head of Strike Team Delta to begin with. He’d never been able to resist Clint’s puppy dog eyes, though, which was the reason – 

Phil shakes his head. 

According to the letter, the driver had been wearing a hat pulled low over his eyes and had evaded the initial facial recognition search. The second is currently in progress. Agent Services would like to notify Phil that they will be increasing the security around his building and that they apologize for any inconvenience. There’s also a sticky note pasted on the bottom of the official letter that’s from Verma. It’s unsigned, but Phil recognizes the blocky text.

_MOVE YOUR SHIT_

Despite everything, Phil smiles. He likes Verma. The field agent had initially grumbled about being shuffled into Agent Services after retirement but within a year had revamped the program, instituting sweeping changes that include safe house amenities and work-to-home security. The first time Phil had returned to his apartment after an undercover op to find fresh-baked cookies and a fridge full of food waiting for him, he’d nearly cried.

The new protocol recommends all active field agents move living quarters every three to five years. Those with active death threats against them, known enemies, and/or security clearance above level five, are asked to move every two. Phil, who fulfills all three requirements, hasn’t moved in over ten years. Verma is, to put it mildly, irked.

There always seems to be something better to do than move, though. Phil likes his apartment, but he’s not emotionally attached to the place. He’d been new to S.H.I.E.L.D. when he’d first moved in and had still been thinking like a soldier. The small kitchen, modest living room, and single bedroom had seemed like a ridiculous amount of space at the time. He’d put up posters and thrown a few pictures around, and had amassed a rather significant book collection, but other than there was nothing at his apartment that he’d miss. His Captain America memorabilia was in storage. 

He really should move. Phil decides that he’ll email Verma about available listings tonight before heading home. For now, he puts the letter back on his desk and leaves the office. Clint and Natasha are due for another check-in. Phil wants to be ready.

Operational Command is bustling when Phil gets downstairs. It’s only six-thirty in the morning, both in New York and in Miami, but new information must have come in during the night. Phil covers his irritation at being forced to leave. Maria still rolls her eyes when she hands him the briefing packet.

“Don’t glare at me like that, you look better. Sally Davis approached Agent Romanov last night and set up a meeting for today. They’re doing coffee. No indication yet if she’s going to discuss a hit.”

Phil nods. Clint and Natasha are posing as newlyweds who’ve recently moved to Meadow Springs, a gated community just north of Miami. The cover is designed to be less-than-complete, allowing certain members of that community to realize they are, in fact, undercover hit men, a he-and-she operation that has taken out several notable targets in the past three years. Sally Davis is the wife of Ted Davis, a cheating, womanizing, powerful millionaire whom Sally wants dead. 

He is _also_ a member of AIM. Nick wants him dead just as much as Sally does, but AIM doesn’t yet know that _S.H.I.E.L.D._ knows that they’ve identified him as a player. The opportunity presented by the disgruntled Sally Davis cannot be wasted. If Clint and Natasha can maintain their cover, S.H.I.E.L.D. can eliminate a known AIM operative suspected of coordinating the entire eastern AIM finance division without any suspicion falling onto S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint and Natasha might also be able to secure important hard drives relevant to AIM mission directives, if they can gain access to the house.

It’s an important enough operation to demand their best, no matter how much Nick had grumbled about losing Strike Team Delta for a minimum of three months.

It is also why Phil is back in command of the operation, working alongside Maria, despite the fact that he’d resigned as head of Strike Team Delta two months before. Nick had asked him to come back for the op, and then _Clint_ had, too, and it had been almost six weeks since they’d spoken, so Phil hadn’t really stood a chance.

Damn, damn, and double damn.

Because watching Clint and Natasha act as newlyweds undercover, watching the light touches, the small kisses, and the fond looks they share, is doing dangerous things to Phil’s self-control. The worst thing about it is that it isn’t just when the two are in front of others. Clint and Natasha are best friends, exes, and notably handsy. Phil understands that Natasha hates to be touched and that Clint is the only exception to that rule. Clint _loves_ to be touched, but he hardly ever allows it from anyone except Natasha. 

Phil had been a member of that very short list.

Had been. Before. 

Phil sighs and accepts the double-cream, double-sugar monstrosity that Jasper hands him, despite that fact that he’s already been caffeinated once this morning, because if he’s stewing about this already then it’s going to be a very long day. The meet between Natasha and Sally Davis is scheduled to take place at three o’clock. There are a lot of things to set up before then.

In many ways, Phil enjoys this kind of op. If he can forget about his history with Clint, he can lose himself in the spy-versus-spy-ness of it all. Jasper monitors surveillance, Maria sets up mic placement for the coffee meet, and Phil coordinates the entire enterprise. While Nat is sitting down with Sally, Clint will be trying to secure an invitation to the barbeque being hosted at the Davis residence next week. He’s bad enough at elite societal interaction to prefer Phil’s voice in his ear during the conversation.

Phil doesn’t make it back to his office until after seven that night. An entire day of listening to Clint laugh and joke and whisper things to Natasha has given him a headache. He’s just packing up his briefcase when his phone starts to ring.

“Agent Coulson? There’s an Alexandra Ho on the line, sir. She says it’s urgent.”

Phil doesn’t recognize the name. “Put her through, please.”

The hard line crackles for a moment. “Hello. Is this Mr. Coulson? Phil Coulson?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m so glad I finally got a hold of you! Your secretary said you were in meetings all day.” Alexandra Ho sounds breathless. Phil categorizes her voice as relived, hopeful, and not likely a threat. 

“Yes, I was. I’m sorry about that.”

“No, that’s okay. It actually it gave me some time to work on the paperwork. There is a _lot_ of paperwork, um – ” She pauses. “I’m sorry; I should probably start at the beginning. It’s been a long couple of days.”

“I know the feeling,” Phil tells her. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Well,” Ms. Ho says, hedging her words, “the main issue has to do with a Mr. Clint Barton. Do you know him?”

Phil feels his headache intensify. “I do.”

“Right. Well, Mr. Barton is, as I understand it, currently unavailable. We’ve tried to reach him several times, but I gather he’s indisposed.” She sounds upset.

“Yes,” Phil answers, “I’m sorry to say that he is. He’s out of reach due to work. Is there something I could help you with in his stead?”

“Yes, there is. That’s why I’m calling. You see, Mr. Barton has you listed as his emergency contact and, well, this is kind of an emergency.”

Phil’s stomach sinks. He’d been listed as Clint’s emergency contact when he was still in charge of Strike Team Delta. The paperwork should have been changed. If it’s been missed, heads are going to roll. “What sort of emergency do you mean?”

“Were you aware that Mr. Barton is a father?”

Phil almost drops the phone. “He’s a _what_?”

He can hear her wince. “It’s a recent development. Very recent. Two days, actually. Um. I’m not sure that Mr. Barton knows, either.”

Phil gropes for his chair, finds it, and sits down. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

She blows out a breath. “Right. Well. I’m not entirely sure where the beginning _is_ , but suffice it to say that two days ago a Ms. – ” there’s a rustle of paper, “Jessica Fletcher,” papers again, “arrived at the Woman’s Health Free Clinic.” Ms. Ho pauses. “In retrospect, that might have been a fake name.”

Phil gives in and rubs at his temples. “Go on.”

“Yes, well,” Ms. Ho sounds flustered, “she, the woman, was obviously extremely pregnant and quite likely in labour. She was directed to the nearest hospital. From what I understand, she had a normal labour and delivery. On the paperwork she listed her name, address, and social security information as well as that of the father – a Mr. Clint Barton. The nurses assure me that she looked well all night, was sleeping on their rounds, and attempting to breastfeed before the breakfast tray arrived. Then, at some point during the next several hours, she disappeared. No one is quite sure how or when, but when the nurse came in to check on her later, she was gone. She’d left behind the baby in the bassinet. The phone number she provided is disconnected and the address she gave us does not, in fact, exist.”

Phil’s headache becomes a low, persistent drone. “So you began looking for Clint Barton.”

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

Phil takes a deep breath. It feels good, so he does it again. “What hospital did you say?”

 

*

 

He’s just going to go and take a blood sample. That’s all. It has nothing to do with a baby left alone and abandoned, nothing to do with the child being potentially Clint’s. The situation doesn’t tug on his heartstrings because Phil Coulson doesn’t have heartstrings. Agent Coulson is a robot who plugs into the outlet in his office instead of going home. Agent Coulson is a vampire who hangs from his coat hanger like his perfectly pressed suits. Agent Coulson is a stone and stones don’t have hearts, let alone heart _strings_.

Phil finds it very difficult to be Agent Coulson when he’s standing in the NICU holding a baby. It – he? she? – is incredibly small and infinitesimally delicate. It’s hands are Clint’s hands in miniature. They clutch at the blanket with surprising strength.

Phil had a momentary flash of terror when the front desk had informed him that the baby was in the NICU, but the nurse on the floor assures him that it was simply because there was no where else for it to go. The baby is two days old and needs to feed every couple of hours, and the regular paediatrics floor is full. 

Phil really was just going to take a blood sample and go. Whatever’s happening here is too sensitive to share – Phil has the security clearance to check on this, and the time it would take to read someone else in was time he could not afford. They needed to know – _S.H.I.E.L.D._ needed to know – if this baby was true or some ridiculous prank. 

The nurse had swooped down on him the moment he’d rung through the double-security doors, though. Phil had only gotten a quick look at the neonatal intensive care unit, the plastic-glass plated enclosures surrounding small, squirming bundles of blue and pink blankets, before he’d been handed a baby, a bottle, and pointed to a rocking chair in the corner where he’d be out of the way. 

Phil stands there awkwardly, holding the baby for longer than he’d like to admit. He shouldn’t have come. He’s not the right person for this. He is epically the _wrong_ person for this. There are many reasons, so many reasons, why he should not be – he should not have – 

The baby gurgles. Phil looks down. It – she? The blanket is pink so Phil’s going to assume it’s a girl – blinks giant eyes in a wide-set face. Phil finds himself adjusting to support her head, crooking his elbow so he frames her tiny back. It’s easier than it should be. 

She doesn’t cry. She just looks at him. Her eyes are a dark, beautiful blue. They are nothing like Clint’s eyes. Phil doesn’t know if they belong to her mother or if they are something separate, something wholly herself.

He takes one jerky step, and then another. He crosses the NICU floor and finds the rocking chair, sits down, and holds the baby close. She gurgles again. Phil hesitantly offers her the bottle and her mouth stretches open. The blue eyes dip closed, flare open, and then lock on his.

Phil stares at her.

She’s beautiful. 

“I’m glad that she’s eating, the poor dear, it can’t be easy for her to be here in the NICU. So many beeps and whistles, so many alarms and codes. We try to keep her settled, but it’s difficult. At this age they so want to be held. There, there. Let her finish the bottle.”

Phil nods. He can’t stop staring. Her hands clench and release against the blanket, her tiny feet kick. She’s small – so small – but feisty. 

Eventually, the bottle is finished. The nurse takes it away, chattering the entire time. She returns and holds her hands out for the baby. 

Phil hisses.

The nurse steps back.

“I’m sorry,” Phil apologies instantly, relaxing his hold on the baby. Did he hurt her? He doesn’t think he hurt her. “I’m sorry. I – ”

The nurse just smiles. “That’s okay, my dear. You hold on to her. I should know better than to try and take a baby away from a new father.”

Phil can feel his eyes go wide. “I’m not her – She’s not – ”

The nurse pats his shoulder and walks away. “Yes, yes, dear. Whatever you say.”

 

*

 

Phil spends the night making lists, endless lists. He starts with a page labelled pro/con and quickly ends with a paragraph about why he can’t take the child, is absolutely unqualified to take the child. He doesn’t know the first thing about babies. He’s probably going to drop her.

But he wants her. Staring at the paper, at the list of reasons why he _can’t_ adopt her, why he _shouldn’t_ , he realizes that it doesn’t matter.

He wants her anyway. 

It has nothing to do with Barton. Okay – maybe it has a _little_ to do with Barton – but honestly, Phil’s always wanted a family. He knows this about himself. He’d dreamed of a house, of children, of a white picket fence and a dog named Lucky so many times as a boy. 

He’d never pictured a wife, though, and in the end that had been the thing. Phil had realized he was gay. He could have made something work, maybe, though in those days adoption had been very difficult for a gay man and it probably still is. His father had died and Phil had enlisted in the army. When he did, he’d put away his dreams of another life.

And now he has the chance to take them back.

If he wants to.

If Clint will let him.

If Phil can somehow make this work.

Phil ends up in Nick’s office at six in the morning, clutching a mug of coffee close to his chest and confessing, “I think I’m going to adopt Clint Barton’s illegitimate love child.”

Nick, to his credit, merely blinks. “Does Barton know this yet?”

Phil has to laugh. It comes out slightly hysterical. “No. No, he does not.”

They hash out a plan together. The DNA test Phil had pushed through last night has come back positive. Clint is definitely the father. The mother, whoever she is, is not on record. That rules out the chance of it being another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, though Phil had thought that unlikely, anyway. No one who works for the agency could have hidden a pregnancy for so long.

“In the end, it will be Barton’s decision,” Nick tells Phil seriously. “I don’t care how attached you get, if he wants her, he gets her.”

“Of course,” Phil says, curling his toes inside his boots. It’s an old trick he uses when it’s harder than it should be to keep his expression clear. “She is his, after all.”

Nick’s expression doesn’t change. “I think we should keep it a secret for now, though. Barton needs his mind on the mission. He can’t afford this kind of distraction.”

“This kind of distraction? He’s a _father_.”

Nick nods. “Exactly. It’s going to be a helluva adjustment for him. He deserves the chance to work through that on his own, at home, where no one is trying to shoot at him.”

“So you’re authorizing me to take the baby – Clint’s baby – for an unknown length of time until he can get his ass back to New York? And you’re saying I can’t get attached?” Phil knows he sounds incredulous, but honestly…

Nick shakes his head. “I know it’s not fair to you, and I know you’re going to get attached regardless. I _know_ you, Phil. But what I’m saying is that we need more time. We can get Romanov to press for an earlier date, we can set the wheels for this thing in motion, but Barton needs a week. Minimum. A week before we tell him what’s going on.”

Phil takes a deep breath. He honestly doesn’t know what Clint will do when he learns that he’s a father, or when he realizes that they’d known and had decided to keep it from him for so long. 

Or that the baby is with Phil.

“Fine,” Phil says, because they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it. “Because this is for Clint’s safety, and because I can tell him that it was ultimately your decision, then fine.”

“Your tendency to blame everything on me is going to backfire on you one day.”

“Not today.” 

Next, they discuss what to tell Maria. Phil wants to say he has a family emergency. 

“It’s basically true,” Phil argues.

“She’s going to want details,” Nick presses. “When was the last time you stepped down as the head of a major operation?”

Phil glares. The answer is two months ago, obviously, but he doesn’t want to think about that now. “I trust your ability to think of something.”

“You’re going to regret that statement.”

“I already do.”

Nick blows out a breath. “Fine, I’ll cover for you.” He taps a blue envelope on his desk. “And I got the report about the black sedan that’s been spotted near your building. You’re going to have to move.”

“I know,” Phil sighs. “I can’t live in a one bedroom with a baby, anyway. Or, wait, do they have their own bedroom when they’re just born? Don’t they have to stay by the side of the bed? Should I get a bassinet?”

Nick just stares at him. “Why are you doing this again?”

Phil rubs a hand over his eyes. It’s six-thirty in the morning and he hasn’t slept. “Because she looked at me as if I was the most important thing in the world and at that moment, to her, I was.”

Nick’s shoulders slump. “Fine. You know what? Fine.” They’ve known each other for a long time, after all. “You do what you have to do. Just be careful. I don’t want you getting your heart broken over this.”

Phil’s lips curl into a smile. “I think it’s too late for that, but thank you, boss.”

 

*

 

Phil hadn’t meant to fall in love with Clint Barton. 

He’d resisted the feeling for a long time. Phil had focused on the man’s faults, ignored his good humour and honest cheer, and repeated the names of women he’d known Clint had slept with to himself at night in bed. Nothing had prevented it. He’d still fallen, head over heels, in love with his agent despite it all.

Phil had known that Clint didn’t feel the same. He dated men, occasionally, but they were nothing like Phil. Big, strapping guys; Norse gods, the lot of them. ‘Dated’ was also too heavy a term. Clint had one night stands, and only one night stands. Men, women, it didn’t matter. He never saw the same person twice.

“I like variety in my life,” he’d said on more than one occasion, winking at Phil like it was a joke. “‘Live, breathe, and fuck, for tomorrow we may die.’”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that quote goes, Barton.”

Clint had shrugged. “Eh, close enough.”

Phil’s crush had eventually gotten to the point when it had become unprofessional. Clint had nearly been injured in the field and Phil had – well, he’d lost his objectivity. Completely. He’d stormed the enemy base and laid waste to the militia attacking Clint and Natasha’s position. No knee shots. No enemies left in his wake. Just bam, bam, bam; head and torso shots, all. Phil had come in and gotten his agents out.

The next day, he’d resigned.

“What the hell is this?” Clint had shouted, bursting into Phil’s office with the paper in his hand. “Why would you – _how_ could you – ?”

Phil had sighed. “I’d been hoping to talk to you about it before you received the official notice. You and Natasha, both. I would have, if you’d stayed in medical where you belong.”

“Forget about fucking medical, I’m _fine_.” Clint’s face had been thunderous. “Or I was until I found out that my handler was – ”

Clint’s throat had closed up. Phil had seen the realization dawning across his face and had hurried to reassure him. “I’m not leaving you, Clint.”

Clint’s face had been pale. “You are, though.” He’d choked out a laugh. “I knew you would, eventually. Everyone always does.”

And _dammit_. Phil hadn’t been planning to tell him, not like this, but now he couldn’t _not_. 

“I’m not. I mean, I am. I’m resigning as head of Strike Team Delta, but it’s not because I’m tired of you, or ashamed of you, or because your performance has been anything other than exemplary. In fact, it’s completely the opposite. Clint. You’re, it’s – ” He’d taken a deep breath. “I’m in love with you.”

Clint had stared at him. “You’re what?”

“I’m in love with you.”

Clint had looked shocked. “No. You can’t be. Me?”

Despite everything, Phil had smiled. “Yes, you. I’m sorry to spring this on you. I hadn’t meant to. I’ve been ignoring this feeling for some time. I know you don’t feel the same and never will and that is perfectly fine, Clint. I don’t expect anything from you. It’s inappropriate for me to continue to act as your handler, though. I couldn’t – I _can’t_ maintain professionalism. This op in Mali has highlighted that fact. It’s not safe for me to continue in a position of power over you.”

Clint had swallowed. “So – what? That’s it? You’re leaving?”

“As head of Strike Team Delta, yes. I’ll still be here at S.H.I.E.L.D., of course.”

“What if I – ” Clint’s throat had worked. “What if we – ”

It had been Phil’s turn to swallow. The long dead hope he’d thought he’d buried flared painfully in his chest. “If you felt the same? No, Clint. Even if you did – could – feel something for me in return, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to be your boss. It would be even less. I’ve done what I can to convince these feelings to go away and they won’t. It doesn’t matter if you could or never will feel the same. I’ll never be able to lead Strike Team Delta again.”

Clint had clenched his hands into fists at his side. “Never?”

Phil had shaken his head. “Never.”

“Okay,” Clint had said, and then stepped forward into Phil’s space. “Okay. If that’s what’s going to happen, then, can I – ? Can I just – ?” He’d leaned in.

Clint had kissed him. Phil’s brain had short-circuited.

“What?” he’d asked, breathless, when it was over.

Clint had blushed. “I can’t date you. I could never date you, Phil, not like you deserve. I _want_ you, though. I’ve always wanted you. I’ve held back because this, what we had here, was more important to me. If we’re going to lose this, though, no matter what, can we just… maybe… once? Could we just once?”

Phil had licked his lips, feeling the phantom brush of Clint’s mouth. “You understand what I meant, right? I’m in love with you. I don’t just want a one-night stand.”

“I know,” Clint had said. He’d even looked sad. “That’s all I can give you, though. I know it’s not fair to you. I recognize that. But, I… If you want…”

And Phil had wanted. He couldn’t _not_. It was going to hurt him, it was going to _break_ him. He knew that. But he’d wanted it anyway. 

He’d wanted anything he could get.

“Okay,” he’d breathed. “One night. My place?”

Clint had shaken his head. “Mine. I’ve got,” he’d blushed, “supplies.”

Right. Because Phil was going to be just one more of many, one of Clint Barton’s legendary one night stands. “Okay.”

Phil had closed his office and followed Clint back to his place. They actually lived fairly close to each other and had taken the subway home at the same time more than once. This had been different, though. This time Phil had known he wouldn’t be nodding to Clint as he turned towards home, instead he’d be following Clint back to his place. 

It’d been surreal even as it’d been happening. 

Their hands had brushed occasionally on the train and Phil had blushed, but Clint never had. He’d attacked Phil as soon as the door to his apartment closed behind him, though.

“I’ve always wondered what you kept hidden under these suits,” Clint had said, breathing hard into his ear, reaching around to take Phil’s ass in both hands and squeeze. “Fuck, Phil. I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long.”

“Yes,” Phil had ground out, and pulled Clint flush against him. “Do that. Fuck me. _Yes_.”

They had. Clint had led Phil back to his bedroom and stripped him slowly, kissing every inch of him, licking his way down Phil’s chest as he undid every button. Phil had been left gasping at the end of it, his cock painfully hard. “You’re good at this.”

Clint’s expression had been teasing. “I’ve done this before.”

“Right,” Phil had said, and mentally smacked himself. One of many. One of many. He had to remember that or he’d go insane.

It’d helped to keep his head where it needed to be, but only just. The sex had been fantastic. Clint had fucked him and Phil had gone off like a rocket, the feel of Clint’s thick, hard cock inside of him even better than he’d imagined. 

They’d rested for a while and Clint had fetched them snacks, and then they’d turned the tables around. Clint didn’t get fucked often, and he’d been tight. “Not too many women interested in pegging,” he’d said when Phil had breached him, “and I don’t usually pick up guys.”

“Women are safer,” Phil had guessed, even as he’d kissed the dip above Clint’s ass, adding a second finger beside the first.

“Yeah,” Clint had agreed, wincing slightly. Phil had added more lube. 

Fucking Clint had been everything he’d thought it would be, and nothing like he could have imagined. He’d been quieter than Phil had been expecting, less talkative than he had been when he’d been the one fucking Phil. Phil had also lasted longer, probably because it was his second time getting hard that night, and it had been a very long time since that had happened.

Afterwards, they’d laid in bed for hours. Clint had fallen asleep, which Phil doubted was his usual method of dealing with people he brought home for sex, but it’d been a long day after an even longer mission and he’d been in medical that morning to boot. Phil hadn’t been able to resist giving him a kiss before he left, though, just once, on the centre of his forehead and after he was already dressed.

He’d kissed Clint and Clint had smiled, looking younger in his sleep. 

And then he’d left.

Things had been understandably awkward between them the next day. That had been precisely why Phil had never said anything about his feelings before. The feeling had worsened and intensified. Phil had blushed when they stood in the same room together, made excuses to leave when he could. Clint stopped coming by his office and hanging out on his couch. Phil told himself that Clint would have anyway, because Phil was no longer in command of his team, but he liked to think that, if Phil hadn’t said anything, maybe they could have still been friends.

It was too late for that now.

Natasha had realized that something was different, of course, but she’d never talked to Phil about what it might be. Phil could only imagine that Clint had told her. Her gaze, when it had found Phil’s, had been sympathetic. Phil had wondered if she’d understood; if everyone who’d ever slept with Clint Barton had ended up a little bit in love with him despite themselves.

Phil was more than a little bit in love.

He’d known it had been stupid to go home with Clint. He couldn’t really regret it, though, even when he’d had not only his _feelings_ to deal with, but also intimate knowledge of what Clint was like in bed. The sounds he made, what his skin tasted like... Phil woke up gasping, alone in his apartment, more times than he could count. He had resisted washing the clothes he’d put on after leaving Clint’s for days. He’d been trying to hold on to the memory.

He’d been the only one. Two days after bringing Phil home and fucking his lights out, Phil had seen Clint flirting with Agent Brisson in the cafeteria. That night he’d run into Clint buying condoms at the corner store. 

They’d both been embarrassed, and Phil had left. He didn’t need milk that badly, anyway. He’d buy his coffee on his way into work the next day instead.

He’d gone home and washed his laundry. 

He’d concentrated a little harder on avoiding Clint after that. Clint had appeared to be doing the same. The tactic had served them well until the Davis mission. 

“Please, Coulson,” Clint had asked, his hands twisting at his sides. ‘Phil’ was, apparently, left for sex. “Sitwell’s been good, he’s been great, but this is going to be a long-term undercover mission and I trust Natasha to have my back, of course, I do, but I – ”

 _I need you_. It’d been left unspoken, but Phil had heard it all the same.

He’d never been able to resist Clint’s puppy dog eyes. “Okay.”

And now here he is, picking up Clint’s infant daughter, gently arranging her in her new car seat, and driving her home. He frets over every bump in the road and worries because he can’t see her face in the rear-facing car seat. The baby. Clint’s daughter. The consequence of another one-night stand.

Phil has to admit to himself, carrying the car seat into his apartment, that Nick had a good point. He very much could get his heart broken again over this.

Elizabeth – Phil has decided, for now, to name her after Clint’s mother – looks up at him once he puts her down with those wide, blue eyes. She doesn’t smile. The nurse has assured him that she’s far too young for such a gesture and that it will be months yet before she’s able to express that she’s happy to see him. Her arms flail adorably when he picks her up, though. He takes the receiving blanket he’d bought at the store and settles with her onto the couch. Almost immediately, she falls asleep.

Phil knows that he should put her down and set things up. He has a crib, a bassinet, a bottle-cleaning station, and a super-sized package of Huggies Diapers Size 0. He has a mound of receiving blankets and a pile of baby clothes. He needs to start a load of laundry, make up a couple of bottles, and confirm that the crib is secure. He should probably figure out how to put a diaper on.

He’d bought a plastic doll to practice on. He rationalizes that she can play with it when she gets older so it’s not exactly a waste.

Instead of all that, though, he sits on the couch and holds Elizabeth, staring at her tiny hands and marvelling at her perfect face. It’s only when his own eyes start to droop and he starts to fear that he’ll drop her that he transfers her back to the car seat where she’d seemed comfortable and starts tackling his various chores.

She wakes up a half hour later. Phil has put most of her stuff away, but he’d forgotten to make up a bottle, and she lets him know that this was absolutely the incorrect decision by wailing while he frantically starts mixing formula. 

Phil has never actually heard her cry before. She’s _loud_.

He finishes, rushes back to the car seat, and then realizes that in the heat of the moment he’s forgotten to heat the bottle. He picks her up while the formula sits in the warming basin, rocking her gently back and forth, and promising, “It’s okay, its okay, it’s coming.”

When he does finally pop the nipple into her mouth, she sucks on it greedily. Phil watches with thankful, if somewhat incredulous, relief as the formula disappears. He wonders if he should have perhaps made more, but when she finishes she lets out a shuddering burp and promptly falls asleep. 

The bassinet is done and set up in his room, so Phil lays her gently there. He tiptoes out and cleans up the kitchen, washing what he’s used and sitting it to dry on the new rack he’d bought the day before. Then he starts another load of laundry after making sure all the tags are off her clothes and the diaper caddy is full. He’s tired when he’s finished, but she’d been sleeping for a good four hours at a time at the hospital, so Phil figures he can maybe get some work done before crashing for the night.

He realizes his error two hours later, when she wakes up again and starts wailing. He’s not sure if it’s the change in environment or because she doesn’t recognize him, but she’s _pissed_.

He does what he can to soothe her, offers her another bottle, and ends up walking in circles around his coffee table until she falls asleep. He puts her back in the bassinet and lies down in bed. He’s exhausted.

That sets the pattern for the rest of the night. She’s awake, asleep; awake, asleep. Phil gets about three hours of shut-eye himself, but it’s broken – a half hour here, forty-five minutes there. It’s actually harder on his body than being up all night usually is, and of course he’d gotten home last night already sleep deprived from work. This op has been hard on him, and oh shit – the op!

Phil calls Maria, checking only after he’s dialled that it’s already seven-thirty and he’s already unforgivably late.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hopping on one foot while he pulls on his socks. “I’m sorry. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll – ”

“Phil,” Maria interrupts him, “it’s okay. Fury told us about your family emergency. I’m not sure what’s going on, but if it’s making you this flustered, you should probably stay away.”

“No, I’m – ” He stops. _I’m fine_ , he wants to say, except that he isn’t. He hasn’t slept and he probably _won’t_ sleep because what if she’s fussy again tonight? Tomorrow night? What if she _never sleeps again?_

Maria’s voice sounds tinny from where the phone has fallen away from his ear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I _said_ ,” she huffs, “that we can handle it. Everyone on the team has been hand-picked by you. Take whatever time you’ll need. We’ll be fine.”

Phil knows that she’s right. “You will,” he agrees. “It’s just – ” 

“Hard to let go,” Maria finishes for him. “Believe me, I understand. This is an op with Barton, after all.”

Phil bristles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Maria sounds amused. “Only that he’s always been your favourite, Phil. Don’t deny it.”

Phil closes his eyes. Apparently, his infatuation has been completely obvious for everyone to see. Lovely. “Fine.”

“I just meant – ”

“No, you’re right.” Phil runs a hand over his face. “I’m exhausted, and I have – things – that I need to do, so you’re right. The team can handle it. You’ll be fine.”

“Of course we will.”

“Okay.” Phil winces. “Can you just – hand the phone around to people for me? I want to make sure everyone’s starting on the same page.”

Maria is a good agent even if she’s a terrible friend. She does as he asks and Phil gives last-minute instructions over the phone. He tells Jasper to watch out in case Davis figures out that something is up, and reminds Maria to keep an eye on Sally. 

“I will, Phil. Stop worrying. Barton and Romanov are just getting up. Do you want to speak with them?”

Phil’s throat closes. “No,” he manages to croak. “Just – tell them that I’m sorry, and remind them that they’re in good hands. They can do this. _You_ can do this. I’ve got – ” He glances over to where Elizabeth is asleep in her bassinet. “Family to take care of now.”

“Right,” Maria says. He knows her well enough to hear the curiosity in her voice, but she’s completely professional when she signs off the phone. “Call for an update later if you like.”

“I will,” he promises before hanging up.

Phil runs another hand over his face. He should shower. He should start breakfast. He should – 

Elizabeth snuffles in her sleep.

“Good idea,” Phil mutters, and walks back to his bedroom so he can face-plant on his bed. “I should sleep.” 

 

*

 

The week passes quickly. 

Phil’s been grounded several times in his life, and it’s never been fun. He usually finds his apartment claustrophobic. After a day or two he’s always itching to get up and get out, to go back to his office, to get thrown back into the thick of things.

Now, for the first time, he isn’t. It’s probably because it takes him four days, at least, to catch up on his sleep. Elizabeth finally settles. She’s still up every four hours, but at least it’s every _four hours_. Phil naps when he can and slowly, gradually, starts to feel like himself again. 

When Elizabeth is up, she likes to be held. She’ll tolerate some time alone in her bassinet, especially if Phil drags it into the living room or the kitchen for a change of scenery, but mostly she seems happiest in his arms. 

It’s probably because that’s where _he_ feels happiest, too. When she’s in his arms he can hold, look at her, tickle her little feet and marvel at the complexity of her face. She’s so _small_ and she’ll grow to be so _big_ and isn’t it amazing, to think that something like that can happen, and does happen, every day?

It’s possible that he’s slightly delirious from a lack of proper REM sleep, but that’s okay. There’s no one here to see.

The apartment gradually fills with stuff. It’s amazing how many things she _needs_. She dirties her clothes constantly, even once he gets the hang of the diaper thing. She guzzles formula like a queen. The toys he’d bought all seem alarmingly big. In the hospital he hadn’t really conceptualized how very small she was.

On top of that, Phil needs food. He’s always eaten at the cafeteria or gotten take-out on his way home. He has a few menus lying around the apartment, but since he’s home, he feels like he should cook. He bundles Elizabeth into three separate layers and they walk to the grocery store. 

The field trip goes well. Phil spends Elizabeth’s noon-time nap researching the cost of college on-line and then straps her into her car seat, intent on making it to the bank. He ends up at Babies R Us instead, freaked out by how impossible it is to see her face when the car seat is rear-facing. He’s irrationally terrified that she’s going to smother during the drive. He buys a mirror built specifically to let him see her, and then more clothes, diapers, wet wipes, and toys. He wanders through the nipple selection aisle and is lost for upwards of half an hour. The bottles he’d bought from the grocery store pale in comparison to the options that are available here. She’d seemed to like the nipples okay. Hadn’t she liked the nipples okay? What the hell does ‘low-flow’ even _mean?_

“I am utterly confused,” Phil tells Elizabeth, solemnly. “Would you prefer an orthodontic or a natural-approximation nipple, do you think?”

Elizabeth blinks at him and falls back asleep.

Phil resists the urge to buy one of everything and limits himself to three different types. He also buys a swing, because that seems like a useful thing to have in the living room, and realizes as he walks to the check-out aisle that he honestly needs a bigger apartment.

He needs the _space_.

Verma’s taken to emailing him in capital letters because notes are impossible to leave when he’s not at work. They’re getting progressively nastier, too. Phil gets out his phone and finally types a reply. _Two bedrooms. Big windows. Ground floor._ He trusts whatever Verma can come up with after that.

By the time they make it home, Phil’s exhausted. It takes him another two days to catch up on sleep, because Elizabeth once again decides that four-hour long naps are stretching it and she’d prefer to be entertained at the two-hour mark, thank you very much.

“We are going to have to work on your people skills,” Phil tells her. He’s pacing with her up and down his apartment, stopping as he goes to shift laundry from one machine to the next, or pick up a paper plate he has no recollection of leaving on the top of the TV.

The knock at the door startles them both. 

Elizabeth fusses and Phil puts her down in the bassinet. He sneaks back to the door and peers through the peep-hole, reaching with one hand for the gun he’s hidden in the false wall. “Who is it?”

“It’s – um. Me?”

Phil frowns through the peephole before throwing open the door. “Barton?”

Clint waves sheepishly. “Hi.” 

Phil stares at him. Clint is dressed in low-slung jeans and a white Henley. His hair’s a mess, probably because he’s been running his fingers through it, and there’s a bruise blooming on his upper cheek. There’s also a cut on his lip. For all that, he looks good.

Really good.

“What are you doing here?”

Clint honest-to-god _shuffles_. “I, err. I wanted to see if you were okay.”

Phil blinks. “No, I mean, why aren’t you in Miami?” He stops. “Wait, is it Friday already?”

“Yeah,” Clint answers, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Hill said that she’d talked to you, kept you in the loop about what was going on with the operation. Nat and I wrapped things up this morning.”

Phil thinks of his cell phone and frowns. He’s been getting texts from Maria, of course, but when – 

Oh, right. Elizabeth had thrown up on his shirt that morning and he’d had to run another wash. His phone had been out of power but he couldn’t use the outlet in his bedroom in case it rang while Elizabeth was sleeping. He’d been planning to plug the charger into the kitchen, but he must have forgotten…

“Right,” Phil says, because he’s not about to admit any of that in front of Clint. No point in reminding him of all the ways Phil’s been a shit parent.

A shit parent to – crap. _Elizabeth_.

“Listen, Barton,” Phil says nervously. “There’s something I need to – ”

“No, wait,” Clint says, holding up his hand. “Let me go first.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I suppose I was… laying it on a little thick, there, during the op, and that was…” He winces. “That was a shitty thing to do. I suppose I underestimated the way, the way that you…” He stops and glances around the hallway, shuffling again. “Um. Is there any chance we could take this inside?”

Phil thinks of Elizabeth in her bassinet. “No.”

Clint’s face falls. “Right. Of course. I just – ”

“No,” Phil hurries to tell him. “It’s just that, I should explain first. You see, what happened during the op, well, that was – ”

“A family emergency,” Clint interrupts him, smiling slightly. “I know.” He shakes his head. “You don’t have any family, Phil.”

Phil has to huff a laugh. He should have expected Clint to see through that. “Right,” he agrees, “so what really happened was – ”

“I was hoping that we could – ” Clint starts.

An ear-piercing wail stops them both.

Clint stares at the half-closed door behind Phil’s back. “Is that… Was that… a baby?”

Phil winces. “Yes.”

Clint blinks. “Coulson,” he says, and pushes forward into the apartment. “Do you have an illegitimate love child?”

He sounds surprised. There’s a look of something like betrayal on Clint’s face as he stares at the mess of Phil’s apartment, the various mounds of baby stuff, the swing and the diapers, the bottles and the heaps of clean laundry. Elizabeth is clearly audible from Phil’s bedroom, and Clint walks there as if he’s being led, coming to a stop in front of the bassinet where Elizabeth has brought her knees to her chest and is wailing, crying her little eyes out at the unfairness of the world. 

“I don’t, actually,” Phil says, because he’s never going to get a better chance than this to tell him. “You do.”

 

*

 

Clint sinks into the couch like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “I. No. What?”

Phil follows him back to the living room with Elizabeth in his arms. It feels strange, suddenly, to be holding her with Clint in the room. He wonders if he should offer her to him, then realizes that Clint’s first experience holding his daughter should not be when she’s trying to breathe through her tears.

When Elizabeth is hungry, she’s _hungry_.

Phil quickly summarizes the phone call from Alexandra Ho, balancing the angry baby in his arms while he quickly and efficiently measures formula. “Do you know who the woman might have been? It would have been about nine, maybe ten months ago?”

“I don’t know, Coulson,” Clint grumbles. “There have been rather a lot. I don’t always keep track.”

Phil flinches. “Right. Well. Whoever she was, she’s not on any record we can find. The address she gave was a bust and the phone number was as fake as her name. Do the words ‘Jessica Fletcher’ mean anything to you?”

They do. Clint’s good, but he’s not good enough to fool Phil. His eyebrows rise, his lips purse, but every reaction is a shade too slow. “No. Why?”

“That’s what she called herself, when she checked in to the hospital to deliver the baby. Jessica Fletcher. She left before anyone could get anything more.”

“Right,” Clint says, his hands tightening on the sofa. “She just left the baby and ran.”

Phil nods. He knows this can’t be easy for Clint to hear. “That’s why they called me.” He hesitates. “I hope you don’t – I’m sorry if you – ” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry if you’re angry that I took her without talking to you first.”

Clint looks up. “What? No.” He glances around the apartment and huffs a laugh. “Look at all this shit, Coulson. Look at _her_. She loves you. If anyone had to come for her, I’m glad that it was you.”

Phil exhales. “Okay,” he sighs. “Thanks. I think I needed to hear that.” He judges the bottle is warm enough and pops it into her mouth. Elizabeth starts sucking greedily. 

Clint shakes his head. “You’ve done an amazing job. You’ve taken such good care of her.”

Phil swallows. “Yeah,” he looks down at where Elizabeth is held in the crook of his arm. “It actually hasn’t been that bad.”

Clint nods. “What are you going to do when it’s time to give her up?”

Phil’s head snaps up. “What?”

Clint shrugs awkwardly. “I mean, when they find a real family for her. That’s going to be tough, right?”

“A real – ?” Phil shakes his head. “No. She’s your daughter, Barton. If you want her, then you can have her. I won’t say anything against it. But if you can’t look after her, if you don’t _want_ to look after her, then I’m going to do it.”

Clint frowns. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you – ” Clint splutters. “Coulson, you’re a _senior agent_. You can’t be home taking care of a baby all day.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has a daycare centre,” Phil defends. He’s been looking into this. He’s read the security reports and has familiarized himself with an aspect of the organization he’s never thought twice on before. “It’s separate from Headquarters, but there’s an underground connection through the renovated sewer system. I can drop her off there for the day and pick her up at night. Verma is looking for a new apartment for me. Us. She’ll need her own room eventually, of course.”

“Of course,” Clint mocks. He shakes his head. “That’s not right, Phil. She should have a real family.”

Phil bristles. “I’ll be her real family. If you want to see her, of course I’ll let you, but – ”

Clint folds his arms across his chest. “That’s not what I meant. She needs a mom. A dad. She needs to go into foster care.”

Phil’s shocked. “You honestly want me to put her in the system?”

Clint scowls. “She’s a _baby_ , Coulson. Do you know how many people there are out there waiting for a kid? Who would snap her up given half the chance? She won’t go into the system, not like I – we – did.” He shakes his head. “Barney and me, we were older. That was different. She’s going to be fine.”

“No,” Phil says, holding Elizabeth tight. “If you wanted her, then that’d be one thing, but if you don’t, then no. She’s not going anywhere. She’s mine.”

“Phil,” Clint asks, and he’s almost pleading. “What are you going to do with a baby? What about when you go on ops?”

Phil clenches his jaw. “I’m already on glorified desk duty. Without Strike Team Delta, the director has been pushing me to be put in charge of large base operations.” He hasn’t been bitter about that, not really, not when it was a promotion, of a sort. “That will work even better for me, now. I can take her with me if I’ll be out of town for an extended period of time. It’ll be years before she needs to be enrolled in the school system. There’s time to think of something.” 

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe,” Phil admits, “but I’ve always wanted a family. I didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to have one, but now I do. I’m taking it.”

Clint stares at him. “You love her.”

Phil tips his chin up. “I do.”

He sees it coming. Clint’s jaw tightens and Phil _knows_ that it’s coming. 

“And this has nothing to do with me? With the fact that it’s mine? You couldn’t have me, so you’ll take her?”

It’s a sneering, biting accusation, and it’s even worse because Phil’s not entirely sure it isn’t true.

“Get out.”

Clint’s face falls. “Coulson. I’m sorry, I didn’t – ”

“Just get out.” Phil is suddenly tired, so very tired. He can’t do this right now. “She’s your daughter, Barton. If you want to work out visitation rights, then we can do that. If you want to dismiss me from position of guardianship, well then I’m going to have to fight you for that. For now, though, just – leave. Please.”

Clint stares at him a moment longer. His gaze dips down, to where Elizabeth is guzzling formula in Phil’s arms, and his face hardens. “Fine.” 

He spins on his heel and stalks towards the door. “You’re going to regret this, Coulson,” he calls over his shoulder. “Just wait and see. One day you’ll wake up and realize you hate your job and you hate your kid and you’ll get angry and drunk and you’ll regret this. I know you will.”

“I’m not your father, Clint,” Phil says quietly, not moving from the living room. “I’m not going to regret this. I’m not going to change my mind.”

Clint’s steps falter once before straightening again. “We’ll see.”

“We will,” Phil agrees, “because I’m keeping her.”

Clint looks over his shoulder and meets Phil’s eyes. Whatever he sees there makes him hesitate. Finally, he squares his jaw, nods, and leaves.

Phil closes the door behind him. He lets out a weary sigh. 

In his arms, Elizabeth burps.

“You said it, kid,” Phil says, and pats her back. “You said it.”

 

*

 

Ma Tan Giap is more than happy to show Phil around the daycare facility. 

“This is the newborn room, where your daughter will be. The glass windows let in lots of natural light, and of course everything is mirror-sided and bullet-proof. Infants from five days to fifteen months are here, and then they move on to the toddler room. That’s there, right through this connecting door. Do you like the yellow? I find it a little bright, myself, but the kids love it.”

Phil doesn’t correct her when she calls Elizabeth his ‘daughter.’ The paperwork has come through, Clint’s messy signature on every piece of it. Elizabeth is his, legally so. 

He’s gone over every blueprint of the daycare in detail and has a few security upgrades to mention now. Ma listens to his suggestions with an interested air, and in the end they return to her office to hash out the details. 

Most agents who have children bring them here, though several have parents or other family members who prefer to keep the children at home. Phil knows that Woo’s son had passed through the S.H.I.E.L.D. daycare facility, back before he’d gotten too old and had started school. 

“He still goes there three times a week, they’ve got a great after-school program,” Jason tells him while Phil fixes a coffee in the break room. “Everyone there has been retired from the field for some reason, though they still need to pass a basic weapons proficiency range test, of course.”

Phil nods. He’s spread the word that the ‘family emergency’ that drew him away from the op was the death of a cousin. The cousin’s baby had been uninjured, and Phil had been the only family member left. It’s very nearly true. 

“Keep my name out of it,” was all that Clint had said, the one time he’d spoken to Phil about this face-to-face. He hadn’t actually looked at Phil at any point when he’d said it, just leaned over the papers on the desk and methodically signed every one. “No one needs to know that I’ve got a kid. It’ll spoil my game.”

Phil had nodded. He’d been saved from having to respond by Clint storming out of his office and slamming the door behind him as he left. 

All in all, the transition has been easier than Phil had predicted. Verma had kept Agent Services part of the deal and given Phil a list of new apartments. Phil had picked one not too far from his old place and still within walking distance of the grocery store. It had upgraded security features and a safe room in the closet.

“It’s not too close to my old apartment?” Phil had asked.

“It’s the last thing anyone watching would expect,” Verma had said. “Just lay low for a couple of months until the sightings stop.”

Phil had agreed. He liked the new apartment. It was larger and better situated, with lots of room and the big windows he’d requested. His and Elizabeth’s things had been moved for them, and Phil had walked into the new apartment feeling as if he’d taken his first breath of fresh air. 

“Let’s get started,” he’d said to Elizabeth, who’d been asleep in her seat. “I’ll get the crib.”

Phil leaves Jason by the coffee machine and goes back to his office. His work _has_ changed since he’d retired as head of Strike Team Delta, but it isn’t any easier. Not only does Nick keep insisting that he needs a Helicarrier and the people to staff it, but there are many more 0-8-4’s popping up then there used to be. Phil is now in charge of directing who goes where within S.H.I.E.L.D., which ops require which specialities, and how the new graduates from the Academy will be worked into the general flow.

It’s interesting, demanding work, and he can do most of it from his office chair.

Natasha finds him there one morning, scowling at reports regarding Agent Ward’s taciturn nature and inability to get along with others, and gets him out of his chair with a look. “Come with me. You’re going to fail your combat physical, at this rate.”

Phil shoots her a glare. “I will not,” he protests, but follows her to the gym regardless.

Natasha cocks an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Hmm,” she says, and attacks. 

Phil blocks her, but it isn’t as easy as it used to be. He frowns and focuses. Natasha wails on him for three long minutes, flipping, jumping, and dodging with a level of prowess he will never be able to match.

To stall her, Phil works in circles. Attack, defend, attack, defend. He tries to lead Natasha where he wants her to go.

It doesn’t work, but then again, she’s the Black Widow. It was never going to work. The question is just how long he can last. Phil ends up on his back before tapping out. “That wasn’t too embarrassing.” 

“Hmm,” is all Natasha says. She attacks again.

At the end of the workout, Phil is sweating and tired, but happy, too. “Thank you,” he says, surprised to find that he means it.

Natasha actually smiles at him. “You’re not used to unremitting deskwork.”

Phil’s too tired to protest. “I can handle it.”

“Of course you can,” Natasha tells him, “but that doesn’t mean that you’re not welcome here. You’re still a field agent, after all.”

“I am,” Phil agrees. He’s not sure for how much longer, though. 

“You want to be able to protect her.”

Phil looks over at Natasha, gauging her sincerity. How much has Clint told her? “I do.”

There’s a look in her eyes that Phil can’t decipher. “Good.”

Phil finds himself floundering. “Do you – ? I mean, I should have asked before, probably, but. Do you want to meet her?”

Phil has been Natasha’s handler for three years. That doesn’t mean he knows her. 

“Thank you,” she says, “but I think I will wait for Clint to ask me himself.”

Phil winces. “That might take a while.”

“Perhaps,” Natasha agrees. She shakes her head. “He is not so pretty when he is afraid.”

Phil can’t bring himself to agree. He always finds Clint Barton pretty. Handsome. Rakish. There aren’t enough adjectives to describe him.

Clint’s still acting like an absolute ass. He flirts with everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. now. He’s taken to mouthing-off in the field. Jasper is at his wit’s end with him, and Phil doesn’t know anything that will help. 

“Can’t you talk to him?” Jasper pleads, his voice ragged after yelling at Clint for hours in Medical. The archer had taken another unnecessary risk in the field and almost gotten himself killed. Again. “The two of you used to be close.”

“Used to,” Phil tells him, tiredly. Clint’s little stunt had upset him, too. “Honestly, Jasper, if I said anything it would only make things worse. He’s pissed at me.”

“I just don’t know what’s gotten into him. He was fine for the first two months after he switched handlers. A little fidgety, maybe, but not like _this_.”

Phil has to agree. Clint’s skating dangerously close to insubordination. It’s only his years of service that are keeping him from a disciplinary hearing as it is.

Phil thinks about mentioning that when he sees Clint that evening at the grocery store. Elizabeth is three months old and Agent Services hasn’t seen a suspicious vehicle in weeks. Phil’s taken to walking to the store again, confident that the bad guys think he’s moved on. 

Phil sees Clint around the corner aisle and considers it. He couldn’t have this conversation in his office but maybe, in this informal setting, Clint will understand that Phil is just looking out for his – 

Phil turns the corner and stops. Clint is leaning in close to a pretty woman with long brown hair next to the cereal display. Her eyes are down, staring unblinking at the floor, and Clint is murmuring something into her ear.

Elizabeth chooses that moment to sneeze in her sleep. Phil has her tucked in the car seat, resting on the cart handlebars. He’d been seriously concerned the first time he placed her there, but apparently the car seat is designed to clip into the grocery cart very much like it is when in the vehicle, and the contraption is perfectly secure. He’d tested it to make sure.

The woman looks up. Her eyes dart to Elizabeth and the tiny fist she’s raised in her sleep. She’s actually older than Phil had originally thought, probably in her mid-thirties, but something in her face makes her look younger. Phil thinks it’s fear.

Clint glances at Phil and then away. He tries to say something to the woman, but she slips out of his grasp. Phil’s eyes narrow when he sees Clint intends to pursue her. 

“I think no means no, Barton.”

Clint’s gaze is dark when he glares at Phil. “This is none of your concern,” he growls, and hurries away.

The encounter bothers Phil more than it should. He pays for his groceries and walks home. That woman had been scared. That hadn’t just been a figment of his imagination.

Has Clint really fallen so low? Would he intimidate a young woman just to gain her attention? No. Phil can’t believe that. If Clint were that kind of man Phil wouldn’t be in love with him and, well, despite everything, he still is.

“Something’s going on,” he tells Elizabeth, crossing the grocery store parking lot to his apartment. “I – ”

He stops. There’s a black SUV idling in the parking lot beside his building. The driver has a hat pulled down low over his eyes. Phil ducks into a side street and puts Elizabeth down, his heart hammering. 

No. They couldn’t have found him, whoever they are. It has to be a coincidence.

Phil peers around the edge of the building and snaps a shot of the vehicle with his phone. He sends the picture off to Maria, adding _CQD_ to the file. _Run this for me?_ he types.

It doesn’t take long for Maria to get back to him. _Unregistered_ , she says. _Pick-up?_

Phil hesitates. _Not sure._

He waits another five minutes, watching the SUV. Other people come and go from his building, and a few cross the lot to head to the grocery store just as he had. Finally, the driver shifts the SUV into reverse. Phil isn’t sure what changed, but the vehicle pulls smoothly out of the lot and into general traffic. Phil waits another three minutes before texting back. _It’s gone._

Nick meets him at his office the next day. “I want you to move again.”

“No.”

Nick sighs. “Phil, don’t be obstinate about this. Someone’s obviously tracked you down. I don’t want – ”

“Elizabeth has finally gotten settled,” Phil tells him. “The apartment is perfect, the distance from Headquarters, the layout – it’s just what I need. Besides, if they followed me from my old apartment to this one, they’ll just follow me again.”

Nick’s face clenches. “You’re telling me we have a mole?”

“I don’t know about that. There’s no one else in danger, is there? No one else being followed?”

Nick shakes his head. “There’s the regular death threats and such, but no reports of vehicles or tails.”

“Right. So this is probably a personal problem. Someone is gunning for me. Me, personally. This might have nothing to do with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“It has everything to do with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Phil runs a hand over his face. “Right,” he agrees, tiredly, “but I don’t think there’s a mole leaking information about me through this organization. If that was our problem, we’d have a much bigger mess on our hands.”

Nick crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Or to Elizabeth.”

“It won’t,” Phil promises, thinking of Elizabeth. “I won’t let it.”

 

*

 

Phil starts going to the gym on his lunch hour and brushes up on his range skills after work. His apartment is already outfitted with the standard security details and the closet safe room, but he talks to Verma about a few upgrades. He picks up Elizabeth from daycare and hurries her into his car and then home. He keeps his eyes peeled for anything suspicious.

There’s nothing.

“Hey, are you okay?”

It’s Clint. Phil blinks from behind his protective goggles, expelling the spent clip from his gun. It’s Tuesday afternoon, and he’s taking some time in the range. “Fine.”

“Uh huh,” Clint says, narrowing his eyes. Phil wonders what he sees. He _feels_ fine, but he won’t for much longer if Clint keeps staring at him like that. “You look stressed.”

Phil shrugs his shoulders. “I’m okay. I have people looking into it.”

“Into what?”

Phil hesitates, but it’s not like Clint doesn’t need to know. “There’s been a black vehicle spotted around my apartment. They might have followed me there from my old place. Nick’s concerned.”

“Oh, well, if _Nick’s_ concerned.” 

Against his better judgement, Phil smiles. Clint had always given him heck for the way he tended to refer to the director by his first name. It’s a reminder of how things used to be, back when he and Clint still laughed and teased each other. When they still talked. 

The thought makes him tired. “What do you want, Barton?”

Clint looks at him. “I’ve seen you in here more often lately. I was concerned.”

“Yes, well – ”

“And at the gym, and sparring with Natasha. Everywhere I look lately, you’re there.”

Phil refuses to blush. He’d noticed Clint hanging out in the gym several times while he worked out, and yesterday Natasha had used his split second of inattention against him, knocking Phil back onto the mat the moment Clint walked in. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“I know,” Clint tells him. “It’s just – ”

Phil licks his lips. Against his better judgement he wills the _I miss you_ from Clint’s lips. “What?”

Clint shifts and looks away. “Nothing.” He locks up his bow and leaves the range, lifting a hand in a wave. “Later, Coulson.”

Phil blows out a breath. “Right,” he says, and reloads his clip. It seems he’s got some shooting left to do after all.

A few hours later, after punching a satisfactory number of bullets through hapless paper sheets, Phil packs up his briefcase and crosses the underground connection to Elizabeth. “Hello there, baby girl,” he says, picking up the happily gurgling four month old.

“She was a real guzzler today,” Susan, Elizabeth’s usual daycare worker, tells him. “Drank three whole bottles of formula and still wanted more. Have you thought about introducing her to solid food?”

“I thought she was still a little young for that,” Phil says, frowning as he buckles Elizabeth into her carrier.

“A little,” Susan admits. “She might need the extra calories sooner rather than later, though. She’s hungry.”

“Don’t I know it,” Phil admits with a laugh. He picks up the carrier. “I’ll look into it.”

“See you tomorrow,” Susan tells him.

They wave good-bye and Phil walks them out to his car. “What do you think about the idea of solid food, Elizabeth?” Phil asks her as they drive home. “We could try some of those single grain cereals, I guess…”

He trails off as he pulls into his apartment building. There’s a single black SUV idling in the parking lot, but the door’s open and the vehicle looks abandoned. Phil coasts to a stop and glances around. He doesn’t – 

There’s a shatter of broken glass. Elizabeth shrieks, and then Phil feels a prick under his ear. When he looks he sees a plastic dart sticking out. 

Fuck. He should have moved, he should have – 

Phil can already feel himself weakening. He throws the car into park because he doesn’t want Elizabeth to coast into oncoming traffic. With his other hand, he fumbles for his phone. He dials the first number that comes to mind.

“Clint,” he mumbles, but the drug is taking hold too fast. Dammnit, he’d never thought – “Save her. Get Elizabeth.”

After that, he passes out.

 

*

 

Phil wakes up in the trunk of a moving vehicle, arms and legs awkwardly tied. “Of all the…”

He spits out the gag and wiggles his hands and feet, blinking to encourage his eyesight to adjust. Elizabeth’s car seat is tucked in behind him. 

“Elizabeth?” Phil asks. “Come on, honey, speak to me. Are you okay?”

His heart is beating in his throat, but it calms slightly when she gurgles. 

“Good. Good, okay.” 

She coos again and waves her tiny fist. Phil turns his attention to his restraints. He has a lock picking kit in his ankle holster, but he can’t quite get to it. His hands have been double-tied and strapped to his waist. His legs are free, which would theoretically mean that he could fight back when whoever had kidnapped him comes to get him from the car, but with Elizabeth in here with him, he doesn’t want to risk it.

She could tumble out of the vehicle, or get caught in the line of fire. The risk is – no. Just no. 

He’ll just have to keep his wits about him and stall things until Barton – S.H.I.E.L.D. – can find them. Phil knows he got a call off. Clint will come for him.

He’ll come for both of them.

Phil ignores the tiny seed of doubt in his heart – this would be a really easy way to get rid of them, two problems finished and done, but Clint isn’t that kind of man, would never be that kind of man, because then Phil wouldn’t be in love with him – and focuses on paying attention to his surroundings. From the speed of the tires, he thinks they’re on a highway. He can’t hear much beyond the rumble of the car, but he feels it when the vehicle slows. They take a corner and Phil guesses that they’re on an off-ramp. Sure enough, several minutes later the car coasts to a stop.

Phil braces Elizabeth’s car seat with his foot so she doesn’t slide around, and listens intently. There’s a grunt and a grumble from the front seat, the opening of a door, and then a pause before someone fiddles with the trunk. Now is usually when Phil would be readying himself for a burst of effort, but he consciously holds back that response. He can’t put Elizabeth in danger, not more than he already has.

He should have moved months ago. He should have paid closer attention to his surroundings. He can’t… if anything happens to her, he’ll…

Phil breathes in, holds his breath, and breathes out. The trunk opens.

Light spills into the cramped compartment. Phil blinks against the glare and does his best to look woozy and non-threatening. There are two men standing above them holding semi-automatics. They’ve both got short stubble and tan coats. As Phil watches, a third, older man joins them. He’s got more salt than pepper in his short-cut hair, and his eyes are dark.

“You idiots. What the fuck did you grab both of them for?”

The guy on Phil’s right scratches his temple. “I don’t know, boss. I thought you’d want, like, leverage or something.”

“ _Dio porco_ ,” the older guy swears. “I don’t need dead weight around here. Shoot it and get it out of here.”

“No, wait!” Phil shouts. Cold sweat breaks out all over his body. “Please, don’t! Don’t hurt her. I’ll do anything.”

“Hurt her?” The man in charge sneers and leans into the trunk, grabbing Phil by his collar and hauling him out of the vehicle. He throws Phil on the ground and stands over him. “Why the fuck would I hurt my own granddaughter?”

Phil’s mind stutters. “Your… granddaughter?”

The man shakes his head. “Thirty-two years. Thirty-two _years_ I’ve loved my daughter, supported her, done by best to make her life better than mine could ever be. And how does she repay me?” He spits. “She rats out my organization to the goddamn government and then gets herself knocked up for her troubles. _Bella Maria_.” He shakes his head. 

Phil feels the pieces slot together in his mind. “You’re Albino Mazzoti.”

“Fucking right I am,” Don Mazzoti confirms. “And you’re S.H.I.E.L.D. You people took my daughter away from me.”

“No,” Phil protests, thinking back. It would have been two, maybe three years ago, far outside his projected window of nine months before Elizabeth had been born. “You started forming closer ties with Gilles Farreto, a scientist working for AIM. Your daughter Diana realized how much danger you were in. She was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?!” Mazzoti yells. “She is my daughter! Her job is not to protect me, but to do what I say. I told her we were fine working with Ferreto, the man was a genius, a thinker. He would have done great things for us.”

“He was a terrorist of epic proportions,” Phil argues. “And, if I’m remembering correctly, he’d also been hitting on your daughter.”

That’s where Clint had gotten involved. Ferreto had fixated on Diana Mazzoti and Clint had been the agent assigned to guarantee her safety. He’d volunteered for the position, Phil knows.

He must have run into her afterwards, maybe while she was living under an assumed name. Jessica Fletcher, perhaps? They’d recognized each other and spent the night together. Elizabeth was the result of that.

“My daughter ruined me,” Mazzoti goes on with a scowl. “Because of her, I barely avoided jail time. My empire was left in ruins. I’ve been picking up the pieces since she disappeared, and working with idiots like this – ” he gestures to the two men – “are just the tip of it. They should have shot you when they had the chance.” He lifts a gun from his holster and aims it at Phil’s head. “A problem I intend to solve.”

Phil tenses. With Elizabeth out of the metaphorical line of fire, he probably could attack, but what if there’s a fight and she gets caught in the cross fire? How can he get her to safety?

Before he can come to a decision, there’s a _pffft_ of cloven air. An arrow sprouts from Mazzoti’s forearm. He screams and drops his gun. 

His two henchmen duck and look around for the shooter. Two arrows fly. Both men grunt and clutch at their shoulders, falling down to their knees. “What the – ?”

“Shoot him, _shoot him_!” Mazzoti shouts. He’s still standing in front of Phil, clutching at his arm. 

Phil kicks out his knees and rolls to his feet. Mazzoti hits the ground hard, but scrambles on the pavement for his gun. His fingers close around the barrel. Phil turns back to the car, hunching himself over Elizabeth. She’s fast asleep in her carrier.

There’s another _pffft_ from an arrow and Mazzoti screams again. “Fuck! Fuck!”

Phil looks over his shoulder to see Mazzoti writhing on the ground. There’s a single scuffle of boots, and then Clint is there, levelling an arrow in Mazzoti’s face.

“Who the fuck are you?” Mazzoti screams.

“You threatened my daughter,” Clint declares, his voice colder than Phil has ever heard it. “You threatened my friend. You’d be dead except Diana made me promise not to kill you. She still thinks of you as her father. I don’t understand, but I’m willing to respect her decision. You only get one pardon, though. You do _anything_ to step out of line – you try to come after me, or my friend here, or my daughter – and what Diana wants won’t matter to me any more. I’ll put an arrow in your brain.”

Mazzoti’s jaw quivers. “I won’t,” he gibbers. “I won’t, I swear.”

“You’d better not,” Clint tells him. He hands Phil a knife. “Phil, cuff this motherfucker.”

Phil takes the knife. He cuts his restraints and then turns, retrieving the zip ties from Clint’s belt. He’s wearing his new uniform, the one Fury has designed for him. Phil ties Mazzoti first, and then henchmen one and two. They grunt but don’t otherwise protest as he guides their hands behind their backs. Phil doesn’t touch the arrows in their shoulders. The medics are the best people to deal with those.

It doesn’t take long for S.H.I.E.L.D. to arrive. Phil learns later that Clint had put out the call and then gone after them himself. “Natasha bugged the baby carrier,” Clint explains tiredly, several hours later at S.H.I.E.L.D. “I used the portable scanner she’d given me and followed the car, relaying the coordinates to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Why didn’t you wait for back-up?” Maria asks. Because of his involvement, Phil hadn’t been allowed to run the debrief himself, but he has been invited to sit in on the discussion.

Clint hesitates but doesn’t glance over before he continues, “I didn’t think I could afford the time.”

Maria clarifies a couple issues and then packs away her recorder. “Okay, that’s it. I think we’re done. Will you boys need a lift home?”

Phil shakes his head. “Could one of the junior agents bring my car around? I need the car seat base to strap Elizabeth in.”

Maria checks her phone. “Already done. Woo said he had someone grab it for you. It’s waiting for you in your usual spot. Barton, how about you? Do you need a ride?”

“I’ll get a ride back with Coulson,” Clint tells her, still not looking at Phil. “Thanks, Maria.”

“Anytime,” she says. “That was a hell of a thing to go through. Don’t scare us like that again.”

Phil sighs. “Here’s hoping.”

Maria snorts and walks away. “Jasper has Elizabeth in the break room,” she calls over her shoulder. “You’d better get there before he tells her all your dirty secrets.”

“She’s four months old,” Phil reminds her. It had taken him too long to let her out of his arms once they’d gotten back to S.H.I.E.L.D. “She won’t remember them anyway.”

“It’s Jasper,” Maria counters, opening the door. “He’s probably recording it.”

Phil winces. She’s not wrong. “I’ll be right there.”

Maria nods and leaves. 

Clint sighs and finally looks over at Phil. “Um. Hi?”

Phil exhales. “Hi. Is this the part where I ask you what the hell you were thinking?”

Clint gives him a ghost of a smile. “That’s what I’m expecting.”

Phil shakes his head. “I can’t do that, Clint. You saved my life, and you saved Elizabeth. Yes, you got involved with a witness in protective custody and the daughter of a major mob boss to boot. What can I say? That’s par for the course, with you.”

Clint winces. “It wasn’t like that. I ran into her at the grocery store. She lived in the building next to you. I saw her once, that was all.”

“That was obviously enough.” Phil runs a hand over his face. “I can’t regret Elizabeth, so what do you want me to say? Don’t do it again? I’m not going to ask that of you.”

“I know,” Clint says. He swallows. “I was wondering if you wanted to, though?”

Phil looks at him. “What?”

Clint looks nervous. He straightens. “I was wondering if you wanted to. Ask me. Not to do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Sleep with people. Other people.”

Phil stares at him blankly. “You want me to put you in a chastity belt?”

“Yes. No! I mean – ” He raises his hands, drops them. “Doyouwanttohavedinnerwithme?” 

Phil can’t have heard that right. “What?”

“Do you,” Clint asks, sounding like he’s close to hyperventilating, “want to have dinner? With me? You and Elizabeth, I mean. I realize you come as a package set.”

“Not for date nights,” Phil says before he can think. He snaps his jaw shut. “Is that what this is? Are you asking me out on a date?”

Clint’s pulse is fluttering in his throat. “Yes. I am.”

Phil stares at him. Clint doesn’t waver. Phil opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He coughs. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Clint repeats. “Listen, Coulson.” He shakes his head. “ _Phil_. I like you. I’ve always liked you. Maybe a little more than ‘like,’ to be honest. I never thought you gave two shakes about me, and I was comfortable with that. You’re so out of my league it’s not even funny, so it was better when you were, you know, unattainable. But then you – you come out and tell me that you like me; that you’re in love with me – and fuck, do you know what that can do to a guy?”

Phil stares at him. “I’m sorry?”

“I wanted you to take me home and keep me. I wanted that so much, but I couldn’t do that to you. I screw things up, Phil. I screw them up all the time. I’m no good at relationships. I always do something wrong. I didn’t want to take that chance with you. I figured – one night. I can handle that. One night and I’ll make it a good one. One night and we’ll see if, maybe, you could still like me, like that, in the morning.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say. Before he can decide, Clint looks away. “But then I got up and you were already gone. So I figured – great, I’ve screwed things up already. Natasha kicked my ass and reminded me that I’m the one who asked for that, who told you that I couldn’t give you more. And I wasn’t sure if I could. I didn’t want to start something with you and then screw it up, or screw you over, or do anything like the shit I’ve done in the past. I wanted everything with you to be perfect.”

Phil’s throat feels dry. “No relationship is ever perfect, Clint.”

Clint huffs a humourless laugh. “Yeah, well, mine have been much _less_ than perfect, let me tell you. I tried to put things back where they used to be, but I couldn’t do it. On the op in Miami with Natasha, I decided that when I got back I’d see if you were still interested in giving it a go. If I hadn’t done enough already to – to make you think differently of me.”

He stumbles over his words, and Phil swallows. He carefully extends a hand to close it over Clint’s. “You mean if I’d somehow stopped loving you?”

Clint bites his lip. “Yeah.”

“Nothing could ever do that, Clint,” Phil assures him. He smiles ruefully. “If it could, it probably would have by now.”

Clint sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Phil. I’ve been an asshole. I know that. I tried – ” He heaves a breath. “I came back to see you and you had a _baby_ , my baby! And I – I didn’t handle that well. I’m still not handling it well. I can’t be a father, Phil. I _can’t_.”

“You wouldn’t have to do it alone,” Phil reassures him. “She’s mine; she legally belongs to me. But, Clint,” he blows out a breath, “I’d like to date you – I _want_ to date you – but Elizabeth and I, we come as a set. I’m not going to give her up. If you want to be with me, you’re going to have to learn how to be a parent to her.”

“I know that,” Clint says. “I _do_. I want to – if you can go slow for me, Phil, if you can go so slow, I’m sorry – but I want to try. Maybe. If you want to.”

“I want to,” Phil tells him, pulling him close. Clint goes to him, scared and stiff and needy in his arms. “We can go slow, Clint. We can go as slow as you need.”

 

*

 

Clint needs to go _very_ slow. They walk to the break room together to pick up Elizabeth, and find Jasper putting his phone away when they arrive. 

“I’ve got her all ready for you,” Jasper tells them. “Fed and changed and fastened.”

“And corrupted,” Phil jokes, looking at Jasper’s phone. 

“Never in a million years,” Jasper protests. “Phil, would I do a thing like that?”

“In a heartbeat,” Phil tells him. He smiles. “Thanks, Jasper. I appreciate the help.”

“No problem,” he says with a wink. “Drive home safe, okay?”

“We will,” Phil answers. He picks up Elizabeth in her carrier. “Ready to go home, sweetheart?”

She coos happily at him. Clint glances at her once before looking away. 

Phil drives them home. “Where do you want me to – ?”

“Just here at the corner,” Clint answers, avoiding Phil’s eye. “I’ll call you, okay?” He barely waits for the car to coast to a stop before climbing out of the vehicle and darting away.

“Well, that was less than encouraging,” Phil tells Elizabeth wryly before driving home. He takes his time settling her in the crib that night, not wanting to let her go. He’d been so _scared_ when she was in danger.

“And I thought worrying over Clint was bad,” Phil tells her. “I hadn’t even begun to understand.”

Thankfully, he’s tired enough that sleep comes easily. Phil wakes in the morning, gives Elizabeth her bottle, and is just wondering what they’ll do for the day when there’s a knock on the door.

He checks the peep-hole before answering and is surprised to see that it’s Clint. “Hello?”

Clint looks nervous. “Um, hi? I mean, good morning.” He lifts his hands, and Phil can see he’s carrying two cups of extra-large coffee. “I come bearing caffeine.”

“I thought you’d said you call?”

Clint’s face falls. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Phil apologizes, taking the coffee. “You just surprised me. Come on in. Is everything okay?”

Clint follows Phil inside, glancing once around the apartment. His eyes dart to Elizabeth in her swing and then back to Phil again. “It’s fine, it’s just – it’s Saturday, and I know you have the weekend off. I thought that maybe we could – I was wondering if you’d like to have breakfast. With me.”

Phil blinks. “Breakfast sounds good. Um, just let me – ” He gathers the things together that Elizabeth needs for a short expedition; diapers, wet wipes, a spare outfit, formula, and another outfit, just in case. He packs it all into her diaper bag. “Were you thinking of the diner down the street?”

Clint nods. “The coffee isn’t fantastic, but they make a mean fried egg.” 

“That they do,” Phil agrees. 

Clint glances at Elizabeth. “Will she be okay? I mean, it’s not too much for her, is it?”

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Phil reassures him. “It’s me who needs to be careful. Every time I go there I eat half my weight in bacon grease.”

Clint’s still nervous, but he smiles. “You got shot at yesterday, Coulson. Live a little.”

Phil hums in agreement and secures Elizabeth to her carrier. Phil straps it to his chest and motions Clint ahead. “Lay on, MacDuff.”

“You know I’ve read that one, right?”

“Of course I do, I was the one who lent it to you, after all.”

“Yeah,” Clint admits softly. He’s quiet until they exit the building and turn right, then points down the street. “Do you see that building? That was where Diana lived.”

Phil takes that in. “So they were never after me at all.”

Clint shakes his head. “Diana thinks they saw her one day when she was getting groceries. They followed her home. The only thing of interest about you was that you had a baby approximately the right age, and she didn’t. It was just coincidence that they found you. They didn’t realize until after that you were S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“She was the brunette in the grocery store I saw you talking to that day,” Phil says, with sudden realization.

Clint sighs. “She was. I didn’t mean to run into her there but when I did, I wanted answers, and well.” He sighs. “She ran. I haven’t seen her since.”

Phil doesn’t want to push, but he _is_ curious. “Jessica Fletcher?”

Clint smiles. “I used a really cheesy pick-up line the night I ran into Diana again. She laughed and said Jessica had used and abused that one decades ago.”

Phil chuckles. “She sounds like an interesting woman.”

“She is. She never wanted to be a mother, though. She’d hoped I’d take care of the baby.”

Phil avoids Clint’s eye. He tucks Elizabeth’s hat more securely down over her head. 

“I’m sorry for what I said to you that day,” Clint says abruptly. “I’m glad you have her. I’m glad you got the family you always wanted. It’s…” He hesitates. “It’s important to me that you’re happy.”

“I am,” Phil tells him. Then he smiles. “I’ll be happier if you buy me a fried egg and bacon, though.”

Clint smiles back. “I can do that.”

They chat at the diner over food. Clint gives Phil the run-down on Sitwell’s latest gastronomic adventure and they laugh about Maria’s tendency to wear a back-up piece on her dates. Elizabeth sleeps for the duration of breakfast, waking only when Phil puts her back in the carrier, and falls asleep again on the way home. 

Clint acts the gentleman and escorts Phil to his building. “Tell me,” Phil asks, just as Clint is turning to go. “Does Elizabeth have her mother’s eyes?”

Clint looks at his daughter. “Her eyes are blue, right?” When Phil nods, Clint shakes his head. “No. Diana’s eyes are green.”

“Thanks,” Phil tells him. “We’ll, um, we’ll do this again sometime?”

“Definitely,” Clint assures him. “Tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow is good. I’ll – we’ll – see you then.” 

Clint nods and turns away. 

They continue to take things slow. It takes four ‘breakfast dates’ before Clint comes inside after dropping Phil and Elizabeth off, and even then he doesn’t do more than perch awkwardly on the couch for a few minutes before leaving. At work, though, Clint starts hanging around in Phil’s office again. It’s easier there. Without Elizabeth, Phil and Clint are just ‘Phil and Clint.’ The spark that Phil has always felt between them is still there.

Whenever Elizabeth is around, though, Clint becomes awkward again. He shuffles his feet and avoids her gaze, and Phil finally rolls his eyes. “You should just hold her already.”

Clint ducks his head sheepishly. They’re in Phil’s apartment, sitting on the couch, and Elizabeth is trying to get at the Sophie doll Phil has cruelly put an inch too far ahead of her. She bunches her knees up under her belly, arches her bum, and then completely fails to go anywhere.

It doesn’t seem to bother her much, though. She’s mostly cooing and looking adorable.

“What if I, like, drop her or something?”

“I’ve seen you juggle six balls at a time, Clint,” Phil says, exasperated. “You won’t drop her.”

Clint avoids his eye and picks at his fingernail instead. “What if I corrupt her just by getting too close?”

“What? What does that even mean?”

Clint looks away. “I don’t know. I don’t – what if I hurt her?”

“You aren’t going to hurt her.”

“Not, like, _on purpose_ , or anything, but what about by accident?”

Phil stares. “How so?”

Clint licks his lips. “I’m not – I’m not a good person, Phil. She is. She’s beautiful and innocent and pure. What if I – what if I – ?”

“Clint.” Phil turns on the couch so he’s facing him completely. “You are a good person. No, listen to me.” He lifts a hand and holds Clint’s chin steady when he would have turned away. “You _are_. You might have done some bad things in the past, but so have I. So have a lot of people. Do you think Maria’s slate is clean? Natasha’s? Would you object to Natasha holding your daughter?”

Clint stares at him. “Of course not.”

“Exactly. So what’s the difference between you and her?” 

Clint blinks. Then he smiles ruefully. “Well, when you put it like that, it just sounds stupid.”

Phil lets him go gently. “Not stupid, just scared.”

“And scared is normal, right?”

“Scared is definitely normal, Clint.”

Clint swallows. “Okay. Okay, let’s do this thing.”

Phil smiles. “Are you sure?”

Clint nods, firming his resolve. “Yeah. I am.”

“Okay.” Phil leans over and picks Elizabeth up. She gurgles happily in his arms. “Like this,” he shows Clint. “You don’t need to worry about supporting her head or anything, she’s not a newborn anymore. She’s pretty strong.”

“She’s a big girl,” Clint agrees, but his voice is shaking. “Phil, I – ”

“Shh, there you go,” Phil gentles, laying Elizabeth in Clint’s arms. Clint’s hands tighten around her for a second before relaxing. He holds her awkwardly. Elizabeth twists to look up at him, her eyes focusing on his. “She’s interested in you.”

“New faces,” Clint murmurs as he stares at her. “Hey, there, kiddo. How’s it shaking?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widen at the sound of his voice. She stares fixedly at his nose.

Clint looks at her eyes. “Phil,” he says, breathlessly. “She’s beautiful. Her eyes. They’re just like yours.”

 

 

The End


End file.
